


hand in hand

by TheBrokaryotes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Being Stupid, Holding Hands, M/M, enough fluff to choke a rhino, i wrote this in like an hour and a half, s o m u c h f l u f f, the best kind of writing, theyre gay but they dont know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 13:00:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4961575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBrokaryotes/pseuds/TheBrokaryotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama never really gave his relationship with Hinata all that much thought after they dropped the spoiled-tween act and became the closest thing to friends Kageyama thinks he’s ever had. It was normal, of course, as normal as it could be.</p><p>Except for the hand holding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hand in hand

**Author's Note:**

> ONE SHOT ONE NIGHT BABY  
> hello its me again, back with some more kagehina dribble. can you blame me, i mean these babes are fine.  
> to those of you that actually care about out of mind: i see your kudos. and i also want me to be working on that fic. but sadly i ran out of steam, and i will likely have to revamp it completely if i ever want to get it done the right way.  
> but anyway, i digress.  
> enjoy your fluffy fluffy babies <3

If asked about his relationship with the walking incarnation of the sun, Kageyama Tobio would probably respond with something along the lines of a sidelong glance to the distance, a halfhearted shrug, and a twitch of the scowl etched permanently upon his brow. All of course is meant to surmise a positive connotation of said subject.

Kageyama never really gave his relationship with Hinata all that much thought after they dropped the spoiled-tween act and became the closest thing to friends Kageyama thinks he’s ever had. It took some getting used to, obviously; nearly overnight, he went from solitude to having a spritely decoy attached to his hip. Never before had he ever had someone to just stand at his side and point out the obvious, remark on the mundane, and overall just spice up the everyday situations of his life.

But, as with everything else, he adapted. He grew used to Hinata’s company. 

It was normal, of course, as normal as it could be. Hinata wasn’t exactly the quintessential definition of a friend, but he made an effort. As did Kageyama. They did all the things that friends do. Race to the club room, study together, go over to each other’s house, fight over who would pay for the day’s vending machine snacks, and argue about technique. It was normal.

Except for the hand holding. Kageyama wasn’t sure, but he was fairly certain that was not normal.

It kind of began out of necessity; Kageyama got separated from Hinata while in a crowd of disgruntled students caught in the rain during a school field trip to a botanical garden. He’d found him, wet, cold, and grossly upset, sitting under an awning near a patch of sunflowers. It was at that time, as they both trekked back to the group beneath the mild comfort of Kageyama’s umbrella (“Seriously, you didn’t even bring your own? Dumbass.”) that Kageyama insisted it was in their best interest if they held hands while in big crowds.

And so they made it a habit to do so. Holding hands during field trips, then during fire drills, then during the lunch rush at school so as not to get swept away. And it was all good. It was all normal and innocent and good.

Until it wasn’t just the crowds anymore.

Kageyama cannot honestly say for sure when he noticed that the hand holding was no longer being reserved for deluges. Maybe it was when Hinata grabbed his hand to get his attention at a passing blue heron and didn’t let go until they’d reached his doorstep fifteen minutes later. It might’ve been when, during a particularly scary scene in a horror movie that Hinata insisted they watch (“I was not afraid, no I was not!”), he snatched Kageyama’s hand up and clasped it tight until he stopped shaking. Of course, it could also have been when one brisk morning at the start of practice where Hinata yanked his gloves off his numb, snow-dampened hands and demanded that Kageyama warm them up for him, or else he wouldn’t be able to spike properly the rest of the time.

Whatever the case may be, Kageyama only knew that the hand-holding was becoming more and more frequent as the weeks progressed, getting to the point where, while listening to Ukai discuss different methods of attack and defense strategy at practice, Hinata’s hand would find its twitchy way to Kageyama’s lying relaxed in his lap. It would grip gently and squeeze in that most assured of ways, fingers playing with Kageyama’s cuticles and curiously nudging at the ridges of his fingernails, falling in the valleys of his knuckles and finally coming to brush up along the rough calloused underside of his palm.

Kageyama wouldn’t say he minded; he’d always been rather impartial to touch, and plus, it was just Hinata, after all. He just acted that way, touchy-feely and all that. It fell into line with his hyperactivity, his short attention span—it was his method of discovering the world, and Kageyama couldn’t fault him for it. The world is a very touchable thing.

The problem then lies in how to handle it. Because it’s not like Kageyama could simply shrug it all off, it wasn’t that simple. It was beginning to have an effect on him, one he could not simply ignore any longer.

He found himself getting into the position to set the ball, and upon contact, would get a flash of Hinata’s surprisingly soft and delicate hand under his, fingers slipping to twine expertly with his own. It sent a cold shiver down his spine. He would fumble as these instances occurred more and more, earning himself quizzical looks from the third years, judgemental glares from Tanaka and Tsukishima, and a perturbed expression on Hinata’s end, amber eyes begging the question, ‘is it me?’ Yes, it is you, fool, Kageyama would bite bitterly in his head. You and your damn grabby hands.

The final straw came when he found _himself_ reaching out for Hinata’s hand. He had glanced down at Hinata’s free hand as they both walked down the sidewalk towards home. Before he could stop himself, he had already pulled his hand out of his pocket and reached down about halfway to take the dainty appendage in his own. He managed to stop himself, though not before Hinata caught wind of what was going on, and jubilantly accepted the proposition by clasping their hands together, threading their fingers between one another.

This had gone too far. Kageyama had created a monster, of the hand-holding kind. The worst kind imaginable. And what was worse, he found himself _craving_ it. He would be lying on his bed, reading or doing homework, and suddenly he would ache for Hinata’s warmth at his side, for the soft sounds of his breath fluttering the papers as they study, and for his little hand to weave its way into Kageyama’s.

Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to fly. Not in Kageyama’s straight world.

Luckily, however, he believed himself to have a simple fix. No, he couldn’t just tell Hinata outright that it was distracting, that he was thinking about it even outside of his presence; that might give him the wrong impression—you know, like Kageyama was gay or a pervert or something preposterous like that. No, he decided, he knew a better way, which was to reject Hinata’s advances. If he simply didn’t allow the hand holding to take place, there was no way it would bother him anymore.

Ignoring the twist in his stomach, the little corner of him that whined, “no, don’t,” Kageyama set his plan into action.

\--

It backfired immediately.

It had only been one day, and there was already a remarkable difference in Hinata’s behavior after being refused for the fourth time just that morning (now that Kageyama was counting how many times the hand-holding occurred, he was growing baffled at how commonplace it had become). By the time they reached the end of the day, a shaky, slow practice, full of hard looks from more first years than just Tsukishima and a few “you okay, Kageyama?”’s from Daichi, the confused and frustrated energy that radiated off of Hinata in waves was thick, murky, and downright palpable.

As they walked home in stiff silence broken awkwardly by Hinata’s random interjections, Kageyama tried his hardest to watch out for that hand; it shot out so fast sometimes, like a bullet from a sniper rifle, he didn’t always have a long time to react. So when he saw it twitch, watched it move tentatively his direction, he was prepared.

He’d perfected the twist-and-slip maneuver since that morning, comprised of a quick and calculated twist of the wrist and a loose slip of the fingers straight out of the hand, almost as elegant as a ballet. Repeating it now, he felt decidedly proud of himself.

That is, until Hinata stops dead in his tracks, shouting too noisily, “What the hell is going on?”

Kageyama stops too, turning his head and deepening his quizzical furrowed brow. He didn’t know what was going on. He would very much care to. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, Baka-geyama!” Hinata snaps, voice cracking in a manner that was entirely uncool and ridiculously adorable all at once. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” Kageyama demanded, turning towards the smaller individual.

“You keep pulling your hand away from mine, like you don’t want to hold it! What’s the big deal? You’ve never done that before!” Hinata’s lower lip pushes out, pout prominent and difficult to ignore. He looked so childish this way—it sent a pang of regret shooting through Kageyama’s chest.

“Well I’m doing it now,” he states bluntly. Hinata doesn’t like that answer.

“Why?” he whines. “What happened? Why don’t you want to hold hands?”

“Because it’s...it’s weird!” Kageyama hisses in a voice toned down slightly as he notices a few kids in the schoolyard across the way and realizes how loud he and Hinata are being. “It’s weird to hold hands with you.” Largely a lie, but something he could easily roll with.

Hinata knits his eyebrows together. “Since when has it ever been weird? You never complained about it before.”

“Well I just realized today how weird it is.”

“But it’s not weird! We do it all the time! It’s what we do.”

“It’s not normal.”

“Neither are we.”

“That’s not the point!” It’s Kageyama’s voice’s turn to crack this time, causing him to shut his lips tight, blush, and swallow before choosing his next words carefully. “The point is, it’s strange and weird, not to mention distracting. It’s starting to mess with my head.”

Hinata tilts his head to the side, looking an awful lot like a confused puppy. “B-but you’re the one that said we should start doing it in the first place—”

“Yeah, so as not to get your short ass lost while we’re in crowds! Jesus, Hinata, I didn’t mean we had to hold hands all the time. It’s weird! I don’t like it!”

The hurt on Hinata’s face should not have been as visible as it was. It began in his eyes, which widened a tic at the initial shock of hearing the words spoken, then it extended to his nose, nostrils flaring in upset, and finally parted his lips as he tried to think of words to respond with. His cheeks began to go red with shame.

He coughs gently. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. We don’t have to hold hands anymore. Forget about it.”

It’s after he looks away when Kageyama realizes his mistake. “No, no, wait,” he finds himself saying after a few seconds’ pause, after Hinata has already walked a few feet ahead. He reaches out quickly, grabbing onto Hinata’s wrist and clamping down tightly. Hinata fights him, but he’s stronger.

“You said you didn’t want to anymore, so why are you grabbing me like this?! Cut it out!” Hinata squeals.

“Shut up and listen for a second!” Kageyama snaps back, wrenching Hinata closer to himself and grabbing onto his other wrist to keep him there. “I didn’t mean to come across so nastily. It’s just… the hand-holding, the, the consistency of it, it’s… it’s starting to affect me.”

Hinata lulls his desperate motions, remaining indignant about being held in such a manner, but holding relatively still with an expression growing softer as Kageyama continued to speak.

“I start to want it, you know? I’ll be just sitting and doing my own thing and suddenly I’ll just want you there. So I can hold your hand. Or when the ball comes my way to set during practice, I’ll get the sensation of your hand in mine when it makes contact with my palm. I’ll fumble, I’ll drop, I’ll do something stupid—”

“Is that why you kept missing those passes two days ago?” Hinata pipes, having relaxed slightly. Kageyama lets go of his wrists, boxing his ear and clicking his tongue, but saying nothing. He shoves his hands into his pockets and glances away.

“You know, I guess it wouldn’t be that big a deal if… if I didn’t _like_ it, you know? I like holding your hand, I like… I don’t know. Forget it.” Kageyama feels his cheeks heat up fiercely, hoping they’re not as scarlet as they feeling, but banking on that not being the truth as he straightens up, ready to brush past him. He felt insanely foolish, having been so ready to just spill his guts to Hinata right then and there. Stupid, stupid.

Two warm and surprisingly strong hands press against his ribcage, firm and steady. Kageyama’s gaze flicks down to meet Hinata’s, amber soft and calm like undisturbed honey. A pink tongue flits out to wet at his lips as he glances downward.

“I like it too, Kageyama,” he admits. “That’s why I do it. I like holding your hand. I figured, if I were to ever ask you formally if I could, you’d just say no, so I just didn’t. And I like it that way. I like just being able to take your hand whenever. I like it the same way I like spiking your toss, and studying with you, and having sleepovers, and watching movies, and stealing your sweets at lunch. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It just has to feel right. And it does.”

Hinata glances up again, cheeks dusted vermillion as he tried a tiny smile that sent Kageyama’s stomach turning and his heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. “So let me hold your hand.”

Kageyama doesn’t protest, he can’t—not after Hinata just poured _his_ guts out for him. He lets his right hand climb up to fall onto Hinata’s left, clasping it gently and letting out a small, contented sigh.

“Fine,” he murmurs, but it’s not condescending as usual. It’s affirmative

In walking home that day, Kageyama can’t remember ever feeling as proper as he did. The way Hinata’s hand fit into his made it as if they were meant for each other. Hinata swayed their hands between them as they walked, chattering on about this, that, and the other thing while Kageyama only half-listened. He was rather glad that he hadn’t decided to give up on this; after all, he was Hinata’s friend.

And since when did friends ever care about what was ‘normal’ between them anyway?


End file.
